All the Brothers Were Valiant - 1953

All the Brothers Were Valiant (1953) is a snapshot of the studio system assembly line.  It was a routine picture; a remake of a movie that had been filmed twice in the 1920s; a routine assignment for male leads Robert Taylor and Stewart Granger, men who typically followed studio orders—Mr. Taylor in particular, who never squawked at a role but did what he was told; and it was Ann Blyth’s first movie under her new MGM contract.  Hollywood’s largest studio chose a vehicle for their new star that was no challenge for her considerable dramatic abilities, but rather treated her as little more than a pretty ornament. 

However, even the most routine films in Hollywood’s golden years had a way of containing treasures.  That is the wonderful contradiction here.  There is much to like in this movie, even if these shining moments are incidental to the overall feeling that the film is running on autopilot.

In an interview for Classic Images in February 1995, Ann Blyth recalled of co-stars Taylor and Granger:

Who wouldn’t be happy with those two good-looking men around you?  It was just lovely.  They were both so sure of who they were, there was never an issue of one fighting for more attention than the other.  The feeling on the set was terrific.

Indeed, the viewer may see that it was just another day at the office for Taylor and Granger, but they are successful in their roles because of that well-oiled studio machine that took care of them in a manner that made many actors feel stifled, casting them in comfortable roles.

They play brothers at odds over command of a whaling ship in the late 1800s, and at odds over a young woman, played by Ann.  One can see how important casting was in this era where a studio could have its pick of any number of actors to plug into different roles.  Robert Taylor is the calm, introspective brother whose careful and prudent command of his ship will earn him an accusation of cowardice by his brother, who leads a band of mutineers against him. 

Taylor’s quiet style is perfect for his character.  Though he appears too old for the role, and too old to be referred to as Stewart Granger’s younger brother, nevertheless, there is a quietness, a self-assured serenity to the way Taylor takes command of his new ship at the beginning of the movie, and his warm relationship with the elder Lewis Stone as his former captain, and most especially, in his indulgent amusement with his bride, Ann Blyth—especially when she is climbing the rigging to the crow’s nest—that speaks volumes for this character whose good nature will be taken advantage of by his reckless brother. 

He is not a talker, but keeping his own counsel will prove his undoing in the face of dangerous assumptions by his men and his new wife.  It is a paradox that his greatest strength will be his downfall.

Ann goes with him on his long whaling voyage.  There is a poignant scene when they are pulling away from the wharf in New Bedford, Massachusetts, as Ann watches the town grow smaller, and we are impressed with what a shock it must be to her to leave her home for the first time, that she will be at sea for probably three years, and almost all of that time in the company of only men.  More could have been done in this movie on that point, but Ann’s anxiety and deeper issues as a woman on board ship is swept aside in a character that is shown as chipper, spirited, and almost childlike in her bravado.  

This attitude of vivacity will get her into trouble when Taylor’s long-lost brother appears.  (By the way, it was not unusual for wives to accompany their captain husbands aboard whaling ships, though obviously, for various reasons, not all chose to do so.)

Stewart Granger, the former master of the ship, was reported as lost at sea, though his men grumbled that he deserted them.  He had.  Stewart tells of a period of sickness when he was cared for by an island native woman, played by Betta St. John, and while on her island stumbled upon a great stash of pearls.

This episode is told in flashback where we meet Kurt Kasznar and James Whitmore as a couple of scruffy brigands who plot to steal the pearls.  Though these fellows have strong, and sinister, roles, I would suggest this flashback scene is really too long, as it takes us away from the triangle tension of Taylor-Blyth-Granger, and because the three principals in this scene: Kasznar, Whitmore, and St. John, are not seen again.  They are in the past and do not reappear. 

Betta St. John has the thankless role of playing the stereotyped native girl.  However, it is refreshing that she does not speak in a kind of movie pidgin-English, but rather speaks in a (probably made up) dialect that sounds as if it could have been a lingo from Micronesia.  She chatters to the recovering Stewart Granger constantly, and protects him.  We can relate to her, and she draws our sympathy, though we never get to know her very well.

It is a telling aspect of Granger’s self-serving character when he muses, “I never learned her name.”

Stewart Granger plays a sneering, greedy rascal, and so deadly charming that Ann Blyth cannot help but be attracted to him and utterly innocent to the kind of con game this guy is playing.  Granger is good in this role of bad boy adventurer, so sexy that he commands every scene he’s in.  Ann’s relationship with husband Robert Taylor is warm and tender, but placid compared to the energy Granger brings.  When Granger steps in and plants doubt in her mind as to Taylor’s worthiness as a man, she is caught between a man she loves and a man who excites her.

A striking scene when Granger takes her in his arms, and she forgets all about Robert Taylor, until she glances over Granger’s shoulder and sees her husband watching her. 

She is shocked at how the scene must look to him, and she when she returns to their cabin, she cannot even adequately apologize, overwhelmed by shame.

The title is a phrase and family motto in the ship’s log, “All the brothers were valiant…and all the sisters were virtuous.”  She will have to earn back her husband’s trust, as he will have to earn back her respect.

Directed by Richard Thorpe, the move is punctuated by some excellent scenes—as simple as the sunny morning Mr. Taylor visits his old captain, Lewis Stone.  Now retired, Stone clearly savors his quiet life on land after a long career at sea.  He lifts a small cluster of flowers from his garden for Taylor to smell, regarding them as a kind of wondrous miracle.  He was without flowers for three years at a time at sea.  It’s a touching moment. This was the wonderful Lewis Stone’s last film.  He died suddenly of a heart attack two months before it was released.

Other great scenes are far more technically complicated, such as the storm where Taylor and his mate fight the ship’s wheel to keep the ship steady, while Ann Blyth steps out, dressed like the men in a coat and Sou’wester, because she wants to share her husband’s experience. 

“We must never leave each other alone.  We must always keep close to each other.”

Obviously, the scene was done in a controlled environment in the studio, but this makes it all the more worth admiring.  There is no CGI here, no real ship at sea, but a set that is tossed and drenched in gallons of pouring water and spray that evokes the experience that we can share on a human level, and does not remove us from the human emotions with a lot of technological razzle-dazzle.

Another is the scene where the longboats go out to harpoon the whale.  Most of this is rear-screen projection, but it’s done extremely well.  The whale is pierced with the harpoon, and takes off, his great tail rising into the air and pounding into the sea, pulling the men on the rope in what in my neck of the woods is called a “Nantucket sleigh ride.”  It’s a thrilling scene, where danger faced by these men includes the high risk of failure, the risk of injury and losing their lives in an instant.

(Speaking of my neck of the woods, they pronounce the name of the ship, Pequot, as pee-co.  It’s supposed to be pee-quot, after the Indian nation hereabouts.  Somebody seemed to have thought it was a French word.)

The scene where they are successful in bringing a whale aboard and we see, without a lot of words or explanation, the fascinating process of cutting up the whale blubber, boiling it for oil, and storing the oil in casks below decks in this era where whale oil was as important a commodity as crude oil is today. 

We see the hard work involved, and Ann Blyth demonstrates the abominable smell of the process.

A great shot where, having arrived at an island, Ann and Robert Taylor look forward to going ashore for a little down time, and in the window of their cabin, we see a man rowing towards the ship.  It is long-lost Stewart Granger.  A foreshadowing of trouble, he will turn their tidy little world upside down.

Finally, a shocking fight scene at the end between Stewart Granger, brandishing our old favorite, a belaying pin… (We haven’t seen one of those since our discussion of The World in His Arms – 1952, here.)…and Keenan Wynn, who comes at him a harpoon.  

It’s quite graphic, especially the sound effect of the hollow, stomach-turning thwunk of the belaying pin smashing on Keenan Wynn’s forehead and the swatch of red blood pasted there in a sickening instant.

I won’t tell you how the story ends, though it’s fairly predictable—again, like a routine assignment off the filmmaking assembly line.  One routine aspect of the movie that is such fun is the cast of familiar character actors who populate the rowdy crew, including Keenan Wynn as a really nasty guy, Peter Whitney in a strong role as a turncoat, and a couple of fellows we meet in other posts in this series: Michael Pate, who would play the village idiot in Thunder on the Hill (1951) which we discussed here, and John Doucette, so terrific as the post commander in the Wagon Train episode of “The Fort Pierce Story” which we discussed here.

One scene that the preview audience responded to in July 1953 was the brief sight of Ann and Robert Taylor getting married in church before the voyage.  According to Hedda Hopper’s column:

Ann Blyth got a special hand when she appeared on the screen in a wedding gown.

She had been married in real life the month before.

Have a look here at the trailer for All the Brothers Were Valiant:

Here is a neat set of  "liner notes"for Miklós Róza’s score for this movie here at Film Score Monthly.

If All the Brothers Were Valiant was also a routine assignment for Ann Blyth as well as her male co-stars, Rose Marie, which we discussed here, was slated next and filming began shortly after her wedding, with the hope that MGM would now showcase their new star in the big-budget musicals that were this studio’s specialty.

Happily, All the Brothers Were Valiant is available on DVD from Warner Home Video.

Come back next Thursday when we continue our look at Ann Blyth’s historical costume dramas, and go farther back in time, with The Golden Horde (1951) where she is a Persian princess guarding her kingdom from attack by the forces of Genghis Khan.  She does not use a belaying pin.

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Classic Images, February 1995, “Ann Blyth: Ann of a Thousand Smiles” by Lance Erickson Ghulam.

Milwaukee Sentinel, December 2, 1952, syndicated column by Louella Parsons.

Toledo Blade, July 21, 1953, syndicated column by Hedda Hopper.

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 THANK YOU....to the following folks whose aid in gathering material for this series has been invaluable:  EBH; Kevin Deany of Kevin's Movie Corner; Gerry Szymski of Westmont Movie Classics, Westmont, Illinois; and Ivan G. Shreve, Jr. of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.

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TRIVIA QUESTION:  I've recently been contacted by someone who wants to know if the piano player in Dillinger (1945-see post here) is the boogie-woogie artist Albert Ammons. Please leave comment or drop me a line if you know.

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UPDATE:  This series on Ann Blyth is now a book - ANN BLYTH: ACTRESS. SINGER. STAR. -

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The audio book for Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is now for sale on Audible.com, and on Amazon and iTunes.

Also in paperback and eBook from Amazon, and my Etsy shop: LynchTwinsPublishing.

 "Lynch’s book is organized and well-written – and has plenty of amusing observations – but when it comes to describing Blyth’s movies, Lynch’s writing sparkles." - Ruth Kerr, Silver Screenings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch creates a poignant and thoroughly-researched mosaic of memories of a fine, upstanding human being who also happens to be a legendary entertainer." - Deborah Thomas, Java's Journey

"One of the great strengths of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is that Lynch not only gives an excellent overview of Blyth's career -- she offers detailed analyses of each of Blyth's roles -- but she puts them in the context of the larger issues of the day."- Amanda Garrett, Old Hollywood Films

"Jacqueline's book will hopefully cause many more people to take a look at this multitalented woman whose career encompassed just about every possible aspect of 20th Century entertainment." - Laura Grieve, Laura's Miscellaneous Musings''

"Jacqueline T. Lynch’s Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is an extremely well researched undertaking that is a must for all Blyth fans." - Annette Bochenek, Hometowns to Hollywood

Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. 
by Jacqueline T. Lynch

The first book on the career of actress Ann Blyth. Multitalented and remarkably versatile, Blyth began on radio as a child, appeared on Broadway at the age of twelve in Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine, and enjoyed a long and diverse career in films, theatre, television, and concerts. A sensitive dramatic actress, the youngest at the time to be nominated for her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), she also displayed a gift for comedy, and was especially endeared to fans for her expressive and exquisite lyric soprano, which was showcased in many film and stage musicals. Still a popular guest at film festivals, lovely Ms. Blyth remains a treasure of the Hollywood's golden age.
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Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Memories in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century. Her newspaper column on classic films, Silver Screen, Golden Memories is syndicated nationally.

The Next Voice You Hear (1950)

“The Next Voice You Hear” (1950) has all the typical elements of a 1950s science fiction film. It gives us what are supposed to be typical average Americans becoming completely unnerved by an unexplained and unnatural phenomenon. There is a tense undercurrent running in their not-so-safe-as-they-think world. Then suddenly, they are visited upon by an unstoppable force. In this case, it happens to be the voice of God.

This quiet, fascinating movie has all the footprints of the backwash of World War II and the early days of the Cold War, when the worst trouble the world had ever seen quickly melted away into, not relief, but anxiety-driven competition with Communist bloc countries and nightmares over the atom bomb. The victory proclaimed at the end of the war was lessened by the realization of “what do we do now?” So, too, when God speaks through the radio, the people in this story have to decide is it real, and if so, what we do now?

James Whitmore and Nancy Davis had been in only a few films before they were paired as Joe and Mary Smith in this movie. They have an easy chemistry, at turns joking and teasing; at turns sweetly affectionate. They have a young son, and are expecting the birth of their second child any day. A couple of nice touches in this film include the way Whitmore lightly touches his wife’s face, stroking her with one finger behind her ear, repeated when he wants to comfort her, or just get her attention. Also, the way in which Miss Davis appears beautifully unglamorous, something about her pallid face more than her maternity top tells us not only is she pregnant but is really, really tired of it and just wants to have this baby. It is one of the few films of this period, I think, where the appearance of pregnancy is illustrated a bit more realistically than before.

Also, a note on the score by David Raksin, which we hear at the opening titles and at the end of the film. It is hymn-like, with elements that are both sobering and majestic, and yet there is a wistful, soaring quality to the music that is really very stirring and sweet. Mr. Raksin had also done the haunting score to “Laura” (1944).

The Smiths live in a Los Angeles suburb, in a very small house filled with furnishings that look they came from the box tops mom saves, or from trading stamps. Mr. Whitmore plays a common working man, who takes his lunch to the aircraft factory in a metal lunchbox and gripes about his bullying supervisor. The starter on his car is broken and floods the carburetor every morning. He works as hard as he can but never seems to get ahead, and he worries about his wife and the coming baby. He is a good guy with a bit of a temper, who gets flustered a bit, but clearly loves his family.

Miss Davis plays her typical housewife role with charming understatement. She is quite natural as a woman just as set in her rut as her husband is set in his, and a little desperate as to how to get out of it and not sure that she wants to. She has a way of studying her scene partners, and that goes a long way to create a bond with them for the audience. She exudes warmth in a role that might not otherwise have a lot of meat to it. One is astonished that she will one day, as the wife of Ronald Regan, become First Lady of the United States. Here she is so preoccupied with sneaking a restricted extra piece of bread and butter that we cannot envision her having State dinners in the White House.

There are a lot of quiet, introspective and insightful moments to this film, even when the fireworks start happening when God interrupts our regularly scheduled broadcast to talk on the radio. Even the fireworks are quiet, and we never actually hear the voice of God. The characters do in another room, but our attention is always focused somewhere else so we always miss it. The subtlety with which this film discusses God, possibly the most controversial subject in the history of mankind, is remarkable when we consider that William A. Wellman directed the film. Mr. Wellman brought us gritty gangster films in the 1930s, sexy screwball comedies, and films which pushed the envelope in pre-Code days.

At first Joe Smith thinks the voice of God is a hoax, and there is a funny bit when his wife asks it if sounded like Lionel Barrymore, a staple on radio as much as in the movies, famous for his Scrooge. She also suggests it might be an Orson Welles production, recalling “The War of the Worlds” broadcast of 1938.

God announces he will be with us for the next few days.

“Wouldn’t it be kind of funny if it really was God?” Mary Smith wonders aloud, and we are allowed another of several nice, slow close-ups. The use of silence to increase dramatic tension between characters reminds me a little of director William Wyler’s technique in his films.

The Smiths cannot be bothered fretting over God, though. They have lives to live. Things continually go wrong for Joe, taking over his sick son’s paper route for the day and getting chased by a dog, getting tickets from a traffic cop, getting bawled out at work.

Then another radio message from God seems to indicate the Creator is just as bewildered by them as they are about Him. Some still think it is a hoax, but they read in the newspaper that the voice is heard all over the country and in Europe. The FCC begins an investigation.

Tellingly for the era, there are no reports “from behind the Iron Curtain.” Their son asks Joe Smith how God is heard in France, and Joe responds, “I guess there’s enough people over there that understand English.” But the boy rejects this, deciding that if the voice is really God’s, He could do the impossible and speak to everybody in a way everybody could understand.

“If it’s God, I guess he could do anything.” Children accept the powers of superheroes without analyzing it too much. His dad is still having a problem rationalizing it. His buddies wonder if the Russians are pulling the hoax.

As the days pass, and the radio message from God occurs every night at 8:30, they begin to believe it is Him, and they get freaked. But they still have jobs to go to, even though they begin to await a terrible judgment and everybody washes his car in the neighborhood as if that’s going to set things right with the Lord. Mary has false labor after a panicky rush to the hospital, and wearily, and sheepishly mumbles after a long night, “Feel like such a fool leaving here as big as when I came in.” It is these continual reminders of normality that make the film so compelling, as if they counterbalance this new Twilight Zone world to which they must adjust.

God reminds them of His miracles, things as normal as rain and trees, and prods them to create miracles of their own, “miracles of understanding, and peace, and loving kindness.”

Yet some, like the Smith’s visiting Aunt Ethel, are convinced Judgment Day is at hand and they will be punished. The fear that has been building up over the days is now acute, and erupts, and they fight, and they drink, and they nearly come apart.

Joe Smith confronts his supervisor from work, also his neighbor. He is an atheist and berates Joe, “People silly enough to believe in God are silly enough to believe God’s talking on the radio.” It is a great leveling remark, and when Joe tells him he does not have a right to talk that way, he reminds Joe, and us, that he does.

Joe, Mary, and their son fear God plenty now, and fear the coming of the new baby, as Mary’s mother died in childbirth. They are all obsessed by danger. Eventually, they decide that they should not be afraid of life, and they should not be afraid of God. They still haven’t gotten around to not being afraid of the Russians yet or nuclear war, but one step at a time.

They pull themselves together to face whatever is their inevitable fate, and gather at a packed church where a radio, and not a minister, speaks to them from the pulpit. It seems to say that mass communication has become our new religion, but I suppose that is a topic for another time. Still, the idea is intriguing.

They are told by the announcer that all people of all religions are waiting for God’s message by radio, in churches, temples, synagogues, and mosques. Then his intro for the Almighty, “And the next voice you hear….” is met with silence.

We have another nerve-racking silent moment, and then the minister suddenly realizes that it’s the seventh day and God must be resting.

Show’s over, but the miracles continue as Mary goes into labor and delivers a baby daughter. Her big brother asks dad, “Our baby, what will she do when she’s afraid? She never heard the Voice.” They will just have to tell her about it, and Joe strokes the ear of his drugged up wife as she is wheeled out of the delivery room, to that swelling, sweet music. The film does not always measure up to the sum total of its parts, but it is an intriguing attempt to deal with a difficult subject without being too preachy or contriving a pat solution to our most basic impulse of belief and faith, and what happens when you’re called upon to evaluate all that.